


and who would have thought?

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, jaskier isn't human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt knew he was being followed. Something – someone – had been following him for days. His first instinct had been to just call them out on it and take them down (if needed) but, for some reason, he decided to wait. Now, four days later, they still hadn’t showed themselves but more importantly they hadn’t attacked him.He’d even feigned sleeping and still nothing.So the person obviously wasn’t a threat. At first he thought maybe it was a human too nervous to inquire about a job, but that didn’t seem right. He could hear the thing’s heartbeat, nervous and unsteady, but on top of that he could feel them. They weren’t a mage, not quite, but they still felt like magic. Strong and potent magic.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 72
Kudos: 1671





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt knew he was being followed. Something – _someone_ – had been following him for days. His first instinct had been to just call them out on it and take them down (if needed) but, for some reason, he decided to wait. Now, four days later, they still hadn’t showed themselves but more importantly they hadn’t attacked him.

He’d even feigned sleeping and still nothing.

So the person obviously wasn’t a threat. At first he thought maybe it was a human too nervous to inquire about a job, but that didn’t seem right. He could hear the thing’s heartbeat, nervous and unsteady, but on top of that he could _feel_ them. They weren’t a mage, not quite, but they still felt like magic. Strong and potent magic.

Geralt was not a patient man, so on the night of the fourth day he constructed a plan. He pretended he was leaving his campsite to wash off in the stream. He took the first few steps, slow, before he took off as fast as he could, weaving through trees.

He couldn’t hear them. They knew what they were doing. But he could still _feel_ them.

Geralt hid behind a tree at the last second, the stream in sight, and waited until he saw the person. They walked to the edge of the stream, obviously searching for him. Geralt took a moment to look them over; it was a man, about his height, with dark hair, thin and lanky.

The man’s shoulders slumped, like he was disappointed, and he started to turn. That’s when Geralt jumped out from behind the tree and rushed toward him. He grabbed one of his arms and twisted it behind his back.

The man yelped in pain, struggling against Geralt’s chest. “L – let me go!”

“I will,” Geralt snarled in his ear, “as soon as you tell me why you’ve been _following me_.”

The man stopped struggling all at once, like the energy had been zapped out of him. “Oh,” he said, sounding sheepish. “You’ve noticed?” Before he could answer, though, the man groaned and kicked up dirt. “Fuck, you’re a Witcher, _of course_ you noticed.”

“So you know who I am?” he asked, clinging to that shred of information. The man nodded silently, growing stiff. Geralt growled, low in his throat, and twisted his arm harder. The man let out a soft gasp of pain. “Then you should know I don’t take too kindly to being _followed_.”

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “I was just – I need your help.”

Geralt hmmed. He obviously did not believe him. He’d been alive for too many centuries to trust strangers. But he spun him around anyway. The man stared at him with wide eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. “Help with that?” he asked. “A monster?”

“Not… exactly,” the man replied with a sheepish grin, rubbing his arm.

Now that he was closer, Geralt could get a proper look at him. He had bright blue eyes and thick eyelashes, and a pair of thin lips. His hair was long and shaggy, framing his face. He looked human, no doubt, but there was still something not quite right.

No human had power like that pouring off him unless perhaps the man was cursed. That was a possibility.

“I’m being… _hunted_ ,” the man said, slowly, and Geralt blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

“What?” he asked gruffly, genuinely taken back.

The man smiled, a little tight around the edges. He shifted on his feet. “Long story,” he said. “Just know there are… lots and lots and _lots_ of men after me,” he explained, cryptic as fuck. Geralt _hated_ cryptic. “And I’m willing to pay you generously for your protection.”

Geralt was not interested because – “Humans, you mean,” he snarled. “ _Humans_ are after you.” The man nodded curtly, and Geralt breathed through his nose, hard. “I hunt monsters,” he said blandly. “Not men.” He took a step back. “Find someone else.”

The man shuffled forward, closer. “I don’t _want_ anyone else,” he said with wide eyes. “Geralt of Rivia, the best of the best.” The man fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He was dressed oddly, Geralt realized, in thin silk and bright patterns. “I can’t trust anyone to be able to protect me as well as you, not even another Witcher.”

Geralt snorted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His swords were heavy on his back. “Flattery means nothing to me,” he said. “Try a different approach.”

“It’s not flattery,” the man replied quickly. “It’s the truth. I’ve heard the rumors. You’re incredible.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “I do not get involved in the quarrels of men,” he said, repeating something he’d said many times over the years.

“I know,” the man replied again, just as fast. Geralt watched, silent, as he pulled something out of his pocket. It wasn’t coins, but a beautiful brooch. He extended it in an offering, waiting until Geralt took it to say, “It’s gold with real emeralds. Worth enough coins to feed you for a year, at least.”

Geralt turned it over in the palm of his hand. There was something written on the back in Elder. “Did you steal this?” he asked, lowly. “From _elves_?”

Lately things had been getting worse. Humans had always had a turbulent, at best, relationship with elves but it was getting worse day by day. Men were slaughtering elves they were nothing more than animals, stealing from them. They were going out of their way to kill them, no longer just defending their lands. Just the thought made Geralt feel sick to his stomach.

The man stiffened, putting his hands in the air, “I did not steal, it, I swear.”

“And why should I believe you?” he asked, looking up. He enclosed the brooch in the palm of his hand. “You’re nothing more than a stranger to me.”

The man opened his mouth, closed it. He took a deep breath. “Please just – don’t make me do this.”

Geralt blinked once, surprised, before narrowing his eyes. He searched the man’s face, pinched with something like fear and reluctance. He was hiding something. Geralt stepped closer, could feel the magic on his skin. Probably had something to do with _that_ , he presumed. “Do what?”

“Just… please,” the man begged. “Help me. I – I’m dead without your help.”

Geralt stared him down, unblinking. He looked scared, but genuine. He glanced down, opening his hand, and stared at the brooch. It really was beautiful. He wondered if he could find a way to return it to the elves. He doubted it; they were always in hiding nowadays, and rightfully so.

“Okay,” he said finally. The man startled, looking genuinely surprised. “But if I find out you _stole this_ ,” he waved the brooch in his face, “I will fucking _murder_ you, understand?”

The man nodded, a sharp jerky movement. “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, shrugging his bag off. He placed the brooch near the bottom of the bag, safely tucked away. Finished, he looked at the man. He didn’t say anything, but evidently he communicated well enough with his eyes because he smiled tightly,

“Jaskier,” he said.

Geralt nodded curtly. “I still have many questions for you, _Jaskier_ ,” he drawled. “Follow me.”

Jaskier followed him through the woods. No longer hiding his footsteps, he stepped on twig after twig, leaves crunching under his boots. Geralt brushed some branches out of the way and stepped through to the clearing. He had a blanket on the ground, the remains of a fire, and most importantly he had Roach, tied up and waiting for him.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, approaching Roach. “She’s beau – ”

Roach snorted in his face and he scrambled back with a disgusted look. Geralt barely suppressed a laugh. He shook his head, hard, and crouched by the fire.

Jaskier lingered near the blanket, not quite stepping on it, and Geralt sighed. “Just sit.”

Nodding, he sat down and folded his legs underneath him. It was an unusual position, but Geralt didn’t question it. He had more important things to worry about. He started the fire, poking it with a stick. “How old are you?” was his first question.

Jaskier looked impossibly young. He didn’t answer for a few long seconds, and Geralt looked up. “Um, old enough?” he said in way of a proper reply and,

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Answer my questions or I won’t help you,” he said, and that seemed to do the trick.

Frowning, Jaskier looked away. “I’m twenty-eight,” he said, and that looked about right, so he was probably telling the truth. Finally. “What about you?” he asked, glancing back with an amused quirk to his lips. “Do Witchers keep track of that?”

“Some do,” he drawled, honestly. He’d known some of the others to do that. He didn’t see the point.

Jaskier nodded, but didn’t push. Geralt stood up, the fire roaring, and walked around to join him on the blanket. Jaskier shifted, stretching his legs out.

“Why are these men after you?” he asked. Surely Jaskier should’ve seen such an obvious inquiry coming, but he visibly winced and looked away, his whole body tensing. Geralt frowned. That was probably not a very good sign.

Jaskier did not answer. He was stiff as a board. Geralt scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let me rephrase that: do they have a valid _reason_ to be after you?” Jaskier turned, an odd look in his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

Geralt grunted, “I _mean_ , did you do something? Kill someone? Break a law?”

Jaskier frowned and that was answer enough. He shook his head firmly, “I did nothing.”

Geralt was not a trusting man, but he trusted his instincts. Jaskier seemed to be telling the truth, a determined set to his jaw, eyes clear. “Animals, humans, none of them usually kill each other for no reason,” he said, watching Jaskier’s face for a reaction.

His bottom lip trembled, just barely, “You don’t actually believe that,” he said, not a question. “Humans have a _history_ of killing each other for no reason.”

Geralt breathed out through his nose, one corner of his mouth twitching, almost a smirk. “Hmm,” he said, looking away. “How did you find me?”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. “I told the truth about that,” he assured him, which implied he’d lied about other things but Geralt did not point that out, filing the information away for later. “There’s many rumors of you. The White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken. I was… I was hiding when I heard your name mentioned and I just knew I had to find you.”

Geralt ignored the mention of Blaviken. He preferred not thinking about it. “Why me?”

Jaskier looked at him, almost shy. “There are stories of many Witchers, but… the stories about _you_ , Gealt, are different.” He smiled, small. “They say you don’t kill all monsters, only the dangerous ones. That you’re a fair man.”

He snorted at that. “Well, rumors are rumors for a reason.”

To be fair, they were right – he never killed unless he had to. He preferred to find other ways to deal with monsters if he could, especially sentient ones. But he didn’t want Jaskier thinking he was _soft_. That was how you got a knife in your back.

Jaskier tilted his head, just a little, and there was something uncomfortably knowing in his eyes. “Right.”

“You’re basically hiring me as a glorified bodyguard,” Geralt deadpanned, and Jaskier smiled shyly again. It wasn’t a question, of course, and to be fair Geralt had been hired as a bodyguard before but not for many, many years. He preferred simple jobs – find a monster, kill it, take the payment. Stuff like this had a tendency to get _complicated_.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, nodding at his discarded bag. “I’m paying you, aren’t I?”

Geralt looked to the fire. The flames were bright against the stark darkness of night. “I’d be able to keep you safer,” he started, “if you stopped hiding things from me.” Jaskier was quiet again. When Geralt glanced at him, he was looking at the fire, too, a thoughtful quirk to his lips. “You’re not going to tell me,” he said. He wasn’t asking.

Jaskier smiled tightly. “Not if I don’t have to,” he admitted, and at least he was honest.

“Okay,” Geralt said. He wasn’t a fan of secrets, _especially_ concerning jobs, but – he really must’ve been getting soft because one look at Jaskier, at the dark circles under his eyes, and he decided to drop the subject. For now, at least. He sighed and stood up. “I’m going to find us something to eat.”

Jaskier scrambled to his feet on the blanket, “Well, um, okay, so am I.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment, silent. “Really?”

He shuffled his feet. “I don’t – how are you supposed to protect me if I’m out of your sight?”

He had a point, _but_ – Geralt reached out, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right there,” he said, nodding toward the line of trees, “I’ll be able to hear if anything happens.”

“I – ” Jaskier bit down on his bottom lip, hard. “You swear?”

Geralt almost snorted. He took his hand off Jaskier’s shoulder and reached for one of his swords. It was a welcoming weight in the palm of his hand. He nodded, “Witchers have enhanced senses,” he said, and Jaskier almost looked embarrassed, like he forgot. “I hear even just a twig snap and I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding curtly. “Um, okay. I’ll – I’ll be here.”

Geralt did snort at that. He turned away and disappeared into the woods. Jaskier shifted on his feet and glanced over at Roach. She snorted at him, and he pressed his lips together. “You two are _way_ too alike,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t fight the small smile that blossomed across his face. He was going to be okay. Reaching up, he ran his fingertips over the edge of his ears. He had one small scar on the tip of his left ear from where a man had tried to cut them off. He shivered and pushed his hair back over his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt hadn’t had a travel companion in years. It was… _weird_ , but not entirely bad. He would never say it, of course, but he realized, with a start, that perhaps he’d been kind of lonely. Jaskier rode on the back of Roach, arms wrapped around his waist, and chin propped on his shoulder.

“She doesn’t like me,” he grumbled, and Geralt tried not to snort. (He failed.)

Roach had kicked Jaskier when he first tried mounting her and Geralt had been woefully unhelpful, nearly laughing, covering his mouth with his hand. Jaskier had fell, looking at Roach with wide, stunned eyes. Geralt had talked to her, and afterwards she’d been better.

“Don’t take it personally,” he drawled. “She doesn’t like _most_ people.”

Jaskier hummed, “Just you.”

Geralt smiled, didn’t bother hiding it because it wasn’t like Jaskier could see him, “Just me,” he confirmed, pulling lightly on Roach’s reins. She slowed down and Jaskier peered over his shoulder. They were approaching a small town and Geralt _felt_ , before he heard, Jaskier’s discomfort, his arms tightening around his waist.

He pulled over on the dirt road and climbed off Roach, helping Jaskier down. Jaskier was staring at town, an odd quirk to his lips. Geralt watched him for a moment, just observing. A mix of complicated emotions flashed across his face, one after the other.

“Do we have to?” he asked finally, and Geralt shifted on his feet,

“I assumed you’d prefer a nice bed to sleep on, warm food,” he said. “Besides, your brooch is worth nothing unless I trade it in.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. He chewed, what looked thoughtlessly, on his bottom lip. Geralt touched his arm, startling him out of it, before he ended up drawing blood. Jaskier smiled, tight around the edges. “I – yes, of course. I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be worried,” Geralt reminded him, “You’re paying for my services. I _will_ protect you.”

Jaskier looked at him and his smile slowly shifted, turning into something small and genuine. He nodded again, squaring his shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready,” he repeated.

They stopped by the local inn first, a rundown place with six rooms at max. Thankfully, one room was still vacant. Geralt paid for it, not questioning luck for once. Walking down the hall, he stopped in front of the right door and opened it.

He barely realized there was a problem, shrugging off his bag in a corner of the room, until Jaskier said,

“Oh, um, I’ll take the floor.”

Geralt looked up and glanced around, confused, before realizing there was only one bed, fairly small, in the middle of the room. He’d gotten so used to traveling by himself he hadn’t even considered two rooms. Not to mention, the innkeeper had been very adamant about only having one room left. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” Jaskier said, too fast. “Really. You’re saving my life; sleeping on the floor is a small price to pay.” He shifted on his feet. “Not much different from the forest ground, anyway.”

Geralt shrugged; he had a point. “Hmm.” He straightened back up. “Do you want to stay here or – ”

“I’m going with you!” Jaskier blurted before he could even finish the question. “Um, if that’s okay.”

The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched, almost smiling, before he shook it off. He waved the brooch in the air. “Just going to see if there’s somewhere to trade this in.” He saw the flash of hurt in Jaskier’s eyes and felt something, like needles, prickling the back of his neck. Frowning, he lowered his hand. “Jaskier – ”

There was a knock at the door, interrupting him. Geralt shoved the brooch back in his bag before walking over to the door, opening it. The innkeeper smiled, showing off crooked teeth.

“Do you want a bath, sirs?” she asked, voice raspy.

Geralt nodded and closed the door. He looked at Jaskier, who was smiling, entirely forced, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet. He couldn’t get the image of Jaskier’s eyes, pained, out of his head. If he didn’t want Geralt to sell the brooch, why had he offered it as payment?

“We’ll both clean up,” he said finally. “Then get some food and go to sleep.”

Jaskier looked surprised, unable to hide it. He quickly cleared his throat. “Um, but I thought – ”

“We’re both tired,” Geralt interrupted. “We’ll worry about what to do next in the morning.”

There was no missing the relief in Jaskier’s eyes or the way he smiled, sweet and sincere. Geralt had so many questions. He asked none of them. The innkeeper knocked at the door again and Geralt opened it. “Jaskier, you go first,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

Afterward, they both walked to the local tavern together. Jaskier’s hair was still damp, sticking to the sides of his face. Geralt watched as he pulled the strands away from his skin. He caught a brief glimpse of the bottom of Jaskier’s ear, where a nasty scar extended from his earlobe to his neck. Geralt had many scars of his own, so he knew how annoying it was when people asked about them.

He looked away just as they arrived at the tavern. Geralt opened the door and Jaskier followed him to a table in the back. Geralt ordered ales for both of them and two plates of the regular. Jaskier asked what that meant.

Geralt just shrugged, “Who knows.”

He got a kick out of the look on Jaskier’s face. The waitress returned with their food soon after that and Jaskier poked at it, unimpressed. “This smells like feet.”

“Eat and stop complaining,” he said, and surprisingly Jaskier listened, taking a bite and gagging.

But he didn’t complain again and Geralt had to give him credit for that. He didn’t know much about Jaskier, because that was what he wanted, obviously, but in that moment he knew he wasn’t just some random townsfolk. He had standards, expectations.

Geralt wondered briefly if he was royalty. He hoped not. Geralt fucking _hated_ royalty.

But it would make sense, he supposed, with the way he acted and the brooch. He chewed slowly, deep in thought, and barely noticed when Jaskier startled. But he did, and that was the important part. “What?” he asked, swallowing. “What is it?”

Jaskier ducked his head, hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. “Um. A man just, uh, walked in.”

“And?” he prompted, but he already knew what he was going to say.

Jaskier peeked at him through his bangs. “He was one of the men hunting me before I found you,” he said, and there was no faking the terror in his eyes. “He’s – he’s a real gem,” he said with a shaky smile. “Tried to slow me down by setting a trap.”

Geralt frowned, no longer hungry. “What kind of trap?”

“Would’ve cut off one of my legs if I hadn’t seen it in time,” he said, and Geralt felt something hot – _anger_ , he realized idly – roar to life in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t a good man, never claimed to be, and he had done many disgusting things in his life, but that was just _cruel_. Jaskier might have been hiding things from him, he wasn’t an idiot, but he hardly read as a threat.

“Which one?” he asked, and barely realized he was growling until Jaskier gave him an odd look. He pressed his lips together, tight. “I _said_ , which _one_?”

Jaskier swallowed thickly and ducked his head, fast, just as Geralt heard footsteps behind him, drawing closer. Geralt turned in his seat and sure enough a man, bald and burly, was approaching them. Geralt fingers twitched. He debated if he should draw his sword now or later.

“Hey,” the man said, gruff and low. “Lift your head, kid.”

Geralt decided _now_. He reached for his sword, fast, and unsheathed it. The man barely had time to react before the tip of his sword was pressed against his throat. Jaskier was covering his ears, shoulders trembling. Geralt was pretty sure he could _taste_ salt in the air, so he was most likely crying, too. He was fucking _terrified_.

“Why are you protecting him?” the man snarled, “Are you _dumb_ , Witcher?”

Geralt did not usually get a joy out of killing humans, but there were always exceptions. He sliced the man, clean, through the neck and watched as he fell to the floor with a _thud_. Jaskier let out a sob and the rest of the patrons started to scream, running for the door.

He sheathed his sword quickly and grabbed Jaskier by his arm. “Come on,” he commanded gruffly.

Geralt pushed their way through the crowd and out the door. They stumbled a bit, stopping in the middle of the dirt road. Geralt watched as the patrons poured out of the tavern, yelling and sobbing. Fuck, this wasn’t good.

“We need to get out of here,” he said but Jaskier wasn’t listening. He stared, wide-eyed and teary, at the tavern. Geralt frowned, feeling unexpected guilty and that just wasn’t fair. He’d saved his fucking _life_. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier and that at least stopped the trembling. “Come on,” he repeated, a little gentler. “We have to go.”

After grabbing their bags from the inn, they both climbed on top of Roach and took off out of town. Geralt didn’t stop for a couple hours and when he did it was only because he could tell Jaskier was getting tired. He found a clearing and climbed down from Roach, helping Jaskier down after. Jaskier stood, silent, as he tied Roach to a tree.

“Here,” he said gruffly, shoving the blanket in Jaskier’s arms. “Set it up.”

Jaskier nodded quietly and spread the blanket out on the floor of the forest, smoothing wrinkles out of the fabric. Geralt watched him. Having a task to do seemed to have calmed him down as Geralt had hoped; he knew sometimes the best thing you could for a person was get them out of their own head. Satisfied, he started on the fire.

Once they were settled, he joined Jaskier on the blanket. Thankfully they would be full through the night.

They both stared at the fire without talking. Geralt enjoyed silence, he did, but there was something unsettling about _Jaskier’s_ silence. He nudged him with his shoulder and Jaskier startled, looking guilty. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt had not been expecting that. “What?”

Jaskier sighed, looking down at his hands. Geralt waited. Jaskier did that thing again, chewing on his bottom lip. Geralt’s fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and stop him. He didn’t. “You literally saved my life and I – I froze up like a fucking _coward_.”

“And?” he prompted, not unkindly. “I thought the whole point of paying me to protect you was because you couldn’t do it yourself.”

Jaskier shrugged sharply. “But I know I made things harder, freezing up like that.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, mulling it over. He wasn’t _wrong_. “There’s nothing shameful about not liking violence,” he said, barely even meaning to. Jaskier looked at him oddly and he avoided his eyes. “I think too many humans enjoy it, actually.”

Jaskier laughed, a weird mix of emotions, “I really, _really_ don’t like it,” he admitted. “I, um… I grew up around it. Lots of my friends and – and family were killed because of humans and their love of violence. That’s why I won’t do it.”

Geralt watched him. Did Jaskier know that he gave himself away when he spoke like that? He looked back at the fire and watched as the flames grew higher and higher. “ _Won’t_ ,” he repeated, thinking. “Not _can’t_.”

“Um.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “I’ve been taught some basic, like, self-defense stuff. That’s all.”

Geralt could tell he was lying through his teeth. He should call him out on it. “We should sleep,” he said instead and Jaskier nodded, looking relieved by the change of topic. Geralt stomped out the fire and laid on the blanket with Jaskier.

He could see him in the dark, but he didn’t know if _Jaskier_ could see _him_. Depended on what he was.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” he whispered, soft and sincere and –

Well, perhaps Geralt really _was_ getting soft. He closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Jaskier.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight update from 3 chaps to 4 oops

Geralt opened his eyes and his first thought was: where the fuck is Jaskier? He sat up and looked around but he was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “ _Fuck_.”

He ran from the clearing, “Jaskier!” he shouted, halting to a stop when he heard something. No, it wasn’t _something,_ he realized, it was Jaskier. He followed the sound of Jaskier’s voice through the trees until he found him, washing off in a stream.

His back was turned to Geralt and there was no missing the many scars on it. His stomach lurched with – not pity, exactly, but understanding.

That’s when he realized something else just as shocking, somehow – Jaskier was singing softly. His voice was soft and sweet, and Geralt found himself not wanting to interrupt.

Sadly, Jaskier turned far too soon. He startled and reached up, yanking his hair over his ears.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Geralt asked, stalking closer. “You should’ve woken me up and told me,” he continued without waiting for a reply.

Jaskier looked genuinely guilty, at least. He nodded, hugging himself. “Sorry. I just, I mean it was only a few feet away and – and you said you could hear if – ”

“ _Not_ if I’m sleeping,” he interrupted. “Just tell me next time, okay?”

Jaskier nodded, biting his bottom lip. His eyes twinkled with something far too warm for Geralt to identify, so he didn’t even try. “Well,” he said, wading through the water. Geralt pointedly kept his eyes on his face. “Since you’re here, why don’t you go ahead and join me?”

“Watch how you phrase your questions,” he said gruffly, but started to undress, anyway. He pulled off his shirt and trousers and finally his underclothes. Unlike Jaskier, who had neatly folded his clothes and left them on a rock, he simply tossed them behind him, uncaring.

He stepped in the water and sighed. It was cool, but not too cold, which was a bit odd, considering the weather but he wasn’t about to question it.

Jaskier sat on a rock and gently kicked his feet back and forth in the water.

Geralt snorted, scarily fond, as he started washing himself off. It wasn’t until he heard splashes that he noticed Jaskier had stood up. “Um,” he said, a bit hesitant. “Let me?”

He should’ve turned him away, told him he could do it on his own (he had been doing just that for many, many years). But he didn’t. He shrugged, and sat on a rock. Jaskier smiled and waded through the water, coming to a stop behind Geralt.

He used his hands to cup water and pour it down Geralt’s back. He shivered, lightly, as the water ran down his back. Jaskier scrubbed at any difficult spots of dirt on Geralt’s back. Finally, he stepped back.

“Okay,” he said. “All clean.”

Geralt stood up and turned around. He caught Jaskier’s eyes snapping up to his face. His cheeks were pink, and he fidgeted with his hands.

The sight caused something to stir in the pit of Geralt’s stomach, something he hadn’t felt in decades: _arousal_. He promptly pushed it down, deep, burying it.

Without saying a word, he walked out of the stream and gathered his clothes. He heard Jaskier step out of the water and glanced over as he dressed. He really _was_ thin and lanky.

Looking away, he shook his head. Jaskier was a client, that was all – a really fucking weird one, at that.

Returning to their campsite, Geralt restarted the fire and told Jaskier to “ _stay put”_ while he found them something to eat. Jaskier sat on the blanket and nodded curtly.

He caught a deer relatively easily and returned not even thirty minutes later. Jaskier had fallen back asleep, curled up on the blanket.

Shrugging, he dropped the deer on the ground and leaned down, preparing it to be roasted. He stuck the meat on two sticks and placed them over the fire.

Geralt found himself watching Jaskier while the meat cooked. He looked so young and harmless; why were so many terribly violent men after him?

He knew he needed to ask eventually. Get a real answer.

_But later_ , his brain said. Geralt frowned and turned the sticks, roasting the other side of the meat.

Jaskier woke up a few seconds later and smacked his lips. “Wh – ” he opened his eyes and brightened at the sight of food. “Great, I’m starving.”

Geralt handed him one of the sticks. Jaskier took small, proper bites. Geralt was starting to think he really _was_ royalty.

“I know you’re hiding something,” he said, and Jaskier startled, looking up with wide eyes. He swallowed, hard.

“Um. Like what?” he asked, nervously picking at the meat.

Geralt tilted his head, eyeing him skeptically. “I have no theories just yet,” he said, the truth. Jaskier looked relieved for a total of two seconds before Geralt added, “But I know you don’t smell of a human. You have magic, don’t you?”

Jaskier stared at him and stared and _stared_. Geralt sighed heavily.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked, genuinely. “I thought you were the one who said the rumors told of a Witcher who did not kill monsters simply for _being_ monsters.” He lowered his stick. “If you’re not human, Jaskier, you can tell me.”

Jaskier finally seemed to snap out of it. He looked away sharply. “It’s just – it’s better if less people know.”

“Does your true identity have something to do with all those men hunting you?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. The answer was obvious, and sure enough Jaskier winced visibly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. His fingers curled, tight, around the stick. “If you no longer want to do this for me, I understand.”

Geralt had not been expecting that, frankly. “You’re so scared to tell me that you’d rather try to survive on your own?”

Jaskier shrugged, a sharp jerky movement.

“Okay,” Geralt said through a sigh. He took another bite of deer, chewing slowly. “Fine. I won’t ask again.”

Jaskier turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Wh – really?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I know what being different can feel that,” he said, a little too honest. “Just… if you ever feel like telling me, I’m all ears.” Jaskier smiled, eyes soft. Geralt cleared his throat and squashed the moment by adding, “Knowing would make protecting you easier.”

Jaskier nodded, once, looking down. “Right, of course.”

Geralt ignored the bitter taste of regret on the back of his tongue and took another bite of meat.

For the next few days, they stayed in the woods, traveling slowly. Geralt didn’t even suggest they try entering a town again because when he even started to ask _,_ Jaskier would get the look of a kicked puppy and Geralt would backtrack.

He was getting _way_ too soft. Seriously.

But Jaskier was also opening up, bit by bit. He told him about his childhood, his parents. He kept out a lot of details, he could tell, but even with just the bits and pieces he shared, Geralt knew he’d been right: Jaskier had grown up rich at the very least if not proper royalty.

Geralt found himself kind of enjoying their travels. Jaskier talked a lot, but he didn’t expect Geralt to reply to most of it, so it wasn’t too annoying.

But, like with most good things, it eventually had to end.

It was during the night; Jaskier was curled up and snoring quietly, Geralt was splayed out across the blanket unattractively. He rolled over with a groan and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and frowned, sitting up.

He’d been sleeping even better than usual with Jaskier by his side (a fact he wasn’t thinking _too_ hard about) and so he wondered, idly, what had woken him up.

Listening, he heard nothing and sighed. Well, it was probably just the pressure on his bladder.

Standing up, carefully as not to wake Jaskier, he walked a few feet away to relieve himself. Finished, he tucked himself back in his trousers. That’s when he heard it: movement deep in the woods. Geralt glanced back over his shoulder at Jaskier, still fast asleep.

Frowning, he brushed a few branches out of the way and walked a little ways into the woods.

He saw a deer far off in the distance, bent over and eating. Shaking his head, he turned around and –

He heard it before he felt it, whooshing through the air, but it was too late. An arrow pierced through his shoulder. Gasping, he spun on his heels, eyes flickering around the woods. He couldn’t see them, but he _heard_ them: heartbeats, five or six of them.

“Fuck,” he said, pulling the arrow out of his shoulder and tossing it. “ _Jaskier_.”

He turned and ran for it. He scrambled into the clearing and his heart stopped dead in his chest. A man, probably early 30s, held Jaskier, a dagger pressed against the smooth skin of his neck. Geralt glanced at his swords, propped up against a tree.

Fuck, they were too far. He could probably make it but he couldn’t risk it, not with Jaskier in danger.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked, stepping closer.

The man – the fucking _bastard_ – pressed the dagger harder to Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier gasped, clawing at the man’s arms. Geralt could barely focus on anything but the blood on Jaskier’s neck. It wasn’t much, he told himself, but it didn’t help.

The rest of the men – the _heartbeats_ – stepped out of the woods, one by one. Geralt growled, low in his throat. He should’ve been prepared for this. He failed Jaskier.

“Tell me, Witcher,” the man drawled. “Do you even know who you’re protecting?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me,” he replied tersely, and he saw the fear in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Please,” he begged and the man pushed the dagger, harder, against his neck. Jaskier gasped, biting the inside of his cheek. More and more blood. Geralt’s hands curled into fists. He could _taste_ his anger.

“Shut up,” the man snarled before looking back up at Geralt, an amused quirk to his lips. “I won’t _tell_ you anything,” he said, nodding one of the other men over. They approached, slow. “I can do something better and _show_ you.” He nodded at the other man. “Do it.”

Jaskier sobbed, tears streaming down his face and somehow Geralt knew it wasn’t from the pain.

The man reached up and gathered Jaskier’s hair in a fist. Geralt noticed he had a dagger in his hand, too, and he growled. “ _Don’t_ ,” he said, perfectly even.

Smiling cruelly, the man quickly chopped Jaskier’s hair off. Geralt blinked, genuinely fucking surprised, before he noticed Jaskier’s ears.

“An _elf_ ,” he breathed.

Jaskier was still crying. Everything was slowly clicking; the fact he was being hunted, the magic.

“Not just any elf,” the man said with a nasty grin. “Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

Geralt had only heard that name once or twice but he remembered, clearly, what always followed after it. He suddenly felt off-kilter in a way he never did. He pressed a hand up against a tree, steadying himself. Jaskier wasn’t just any elf, he was a fucking elven _prince_.


	4. Chapter 4

“No, _no_ ,” Jaskier sobbed, thrashing in his captor’s arms. Geralt stared at him, genuinely at a loss for words. Somehow, in all his theories, he never stopped to think Jaskier was an elf. It was stupid of him; he should have seen all the signs. Jaskier opened his eyes and they flashed a brilliant gold. He could _feel_ his power in the air, growing, running wild with his emotions. “Let me _go!_ ”

The man was pushed back with a burst of magic and Jaskier scrambled away. Geralt caught him before he fell, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Well?” the man shouted. “ _Attack_ them!”

Geralt rushed to grab his sword and swung it, slicing a man through the abdomen. He fell to the ground with a _thud_ and Jaskier sobbed, covering his ears. He didn’t dare ask him to fight, even knowing what he was capable of.

Besides, with his sword and Jaskier out of danger, Geralt could easily defeat a few humans.

Except, well, they weren’t _dumb_ because –

Geralt had just killed the last of them when he heard something from above him. He looked up just as a man jumped from a branch, two dagger in his hands. Geralt growled. Fuck, five or _six_. He’d forgotten. He went to swing his sword but he couldn’t. Looking down, he noticed one of the men grinning up at him with bloody teeth.

He had a hold on the blade, hand pouring blood, to stop him. Geralt cursed, preparing for the pain.

It wouldn’t kill him, most likely, but he still never _enjoyed_ pain.

“ _No!”_ Jaskier shouted and he felt his magic in the air, a tangible thing. The sound of flesh ripping and then nothing. Geralt looked over, slowly, to see the man on the ground, bloody and limp. His stomach churned. Not at the sight, _never_ at the sight but –

He turned and barely caught Jaskier as he launched himself at him. He stumbled back a few steps before he righted himself, holding Jaskier in his arms.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, burying his face in hair. “You said – ”

Jaskier sniffed, “He was going to kill you,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I – I couldn’t let him.”

Geralt didn’t dare tell Jaskier a couple daggers were unlikely to kill him. He rubbed his hand up and down his back. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.” But he knew what Jaskier really needed to hear. “ _We’re_ okay.”

Jaskier fell asleep after that. Geralt laid him gently on the blanket and went to work disposing of the bodies. Finished, he joined him on the blanket. Jaskier rolled over, opening his eyes. He pressed his lips together.

“I’m sorry for not telling you. I – my family is _dead_. They were slaughtered by humans. Most of the elves have been, but… you already knew that.” Jaskier licked his lips. “What I mean is, my title, my family name, none of it means anything now. The only thing I had left was my mother’s brooch.”

Geralt nodded, slow. “But why didn’t you want me to know?”

“I – I don’t know,” Jaskier said, rolling onto his back. He stared up at the sky. “I’m never going to be _safe_ , Geralt. They’ll always be after me and I just, I don’t know.” He smiled, a little shaky, closing his eyes. “I thought the less people who knew, the better. Anyway, it’s not like you’re protecting me out of some _moral_ obligation. The brooch will probably fetch you enough coins to last a year. So after that – ”

“ _Julian_ ,” he said, and Jaskier startled, opening his eyes to look at him. “You should’ve told me.”

Jaskier smiled, the smallest, saddest thing. “I also had my own selfish reasons,” he whispered.

Geralt stared at him. “Like what?”

“I – I thought if you didn’t know, I could just… keep pretending to be this weak, defenseless thing,” he admitted with a humorless laugh. “The truth is, I _can_ fight. You’ve… seen it. I just don’t – I _hate_ it, Geralt. I can’t take it. It’s not who I am.”

Geralt nodded, understanding. “You didn’t want to fight, I get it.”

“Not just that,” Jaskier said, soft and sad, “I wanted to stay by your side.”

Geralt searched his face. He really was so beautiful, and the shorter hair suited him. But he knew they’d need to buy him a hat soon to hide his ears. _They_. Geralt scooted closer on the blanket. Jaskier took in a sharp breath. He’d always been too scared to be honest with himself, but right then he knew exactly what he wanted and if he just stopped being a cowards perhaps, just maybe, he could have it. “Like you said, they’re never going to stop coming after you.”

Jaskier smiled sadly. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“No,” Geralt answered honestly. He reached down and found one of Jaskier’s hands. “But as long as you’re traveling with me, I can protect you.”

Jaskier stared at him. His bottom lip trembled. “ _Don’t_ ,” he whispered. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

Geralt rolled away and ignored the pang of hurt in his chest at Jaskier’s stifled sob. He grabbed his bag and dragged it over, digging around the bottom. When he found what he was looking for, he curled his fingers around it.

When he turned back around, Jaskier was sitting up. His bottom lip was still trembling. Geralt wanted to kiss him. He shook the thought away, for the moment.

“Here,” he said, “Put your hands out.”

Jaskier sniffed and did as he was told. His hands, same as his bottom lip and every other inch of him, were shaking. Geralt gently dropped it in his hands, letting their fingers brush. When he pulled his hands away, Jaskier gasped. He looked up at Geralt. “I – I don’t understand,” he said, turning the brooch over in his hands.

“I’ll help you,” Geralt said. “Because it’s what _I_ want to do.” He was surprised by how much he meant it.

Jaskier cradled the brooch against his chest. “Thank you, Geralt,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

He reached out, slow, and took the brooch from Jaskier’s hands, setting it on the blanket. Jaskier blinked, staring at him. “Wh – ” he started to ask, but Geralt interrupted him before he could get far, “Can I?” he asked, eyes flickering to Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier let out a soft gasp. “Gods, yes,” he said, all but pleading.

Geralt smiled for the briefest of seconds before he was kissing him, slow and deep, nipping at his bottom lip. Jaskier kissed back, swinging a leg over Geralt and straddling him. He pulled back, cheeks pink, and smiled sheepishly. “Um, is this okay?”

“Yes, Julian,” and he noticed Jaskier shivered _especially_ hard at that. He filed that information away for later. “Actually,” he brushed his hands down Jaskier’s sides, “it’s _more_ than okay.”

Jaskier grinned and leaned back. Geralt touched every inch of him that night, taking special care to kiss and lick and nip at Jaskier’s ears.

Jaskier adjusted the hat with a pout. “This looks so stupid on me,” he grumbled. Geralt grinned, wrapping his arms around his waist and tugging him closer in the middle of the market.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “A little bit.”

Jaskier laughed, light and airy, and smacked his chest. “ _Wow_ , Geralt.”

“I’m nothing if not honest,” he replied, an amused quirk to his lips. He’d been smiling a lot lately; it was kind of weird, but in the best way. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. He thought it was amazing how he could kiss Jaskier now without asking, but sometimes he asked, anyway, just because he liked to hear him say,

“Gods, Geralt, if you don’t kiss me _right_ this second – ”

Grinning, he kissed him, _hard_ , on the lips. Jaskier mewled, one of Geralt’s new favorite sounds.

He rubbed his hands up and down his back. He could hear the bustle of a small town around them and Geralt got a satisfaction out of knowing they were witness to them. That they all knew Jaskier was _his_. In a totally healthy way, of course.

He knew, better than anyone, that Jaskier was his own person and deserved to be seen as such.

Separating, Jaskier reached up and brushed his fingers through Geralt’s hair, “We should probably go.” Then, just to prove his point, he rubbed himself against Geralt’s thigh. Did he mention they were in the middle of a _marke_ t? But Geralt was too focused on the fact Jaskier was already half-hard just from some kissing and knowing that sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “We should.”

Geralt rolled off Jaskier and landed on his back on the blanket, catching his breath. The great part of having an elf for a lover? He, too, had _crazy fucking stamina_.

Jaskier grinned, the self-satisfied little fuck, and propped his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, and Geralt snorted, brushing sweat-slick hair off his forehead,

“For what? Fucking you within an inch of your life?”

Jaskier laughed and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “Hmm, for that, yes, but all the other stuff, too.” Geralt opened his eyes.

“I heard you,” he said, hit with a sudden and very vivid memory.

Jaskier blinked, looking rightfully confused. He traced circles on Geralt’s chest with his finger. “Um?”

“When you were in the stream, that time I got mad at you,” he explained.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly. “You were right, I shouldn’t have – ”

“No,” Geralt interrupted, not unkindly. “That doesn’t matter.” He smiled, just a hint. “I heard you singing.”

Jaskier looked embarrassed. “Oh, I don’t – I mean – ”

“Can you do it again?” he asked, and Jaskier looked at him like he was out of his mind but he was also smiling, too, the barest hint of teeth.

“Sing?” he asked, just to be sure. “I mean… I _can_ , obviously, but… _why?_ ”

Geralt rolled over, facing Jaskier in the dark. He reached up and cupped the side of Jaskier’s face, thumbing his cheek. He was still a little sweaty from their _activities_. “I want to hear it,” he said, “but you don’t have to.”

Jaskier grinned, biting the inside of his cheek. “Okay, sure, but what should I sing?”

“Anything,” he answered truthfully.

Jaskier laughed softly and closed his eyes. His lips parted with a quiet _smack_ and his voice filled the air. It was like magic. Geralt closed his own eyes and drifted in and out of sleep. The best sleep he’d had in months. Jaskier sang about a brave man with golden eyes, a quest of finding him, getting to know him, fighting by his side, traveling with him, falling for him.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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